Sometimes
I imagine holding mine
in my hands, beating organ-
fleshy and fumbling and trembling
between my thumbs and fidgeting fingers
bringing it to my mouth-
my lips- their caress, my tongue- its tease.
Sometimes
I imagine holding mine
in my hands and bringing it in
close enough to bite.
If I ate it,
would it slip right back inside,
into place, perhaps a better place
than where it’s been before.
Sometimes
I imagine holding mine
in my hands, like you did
and wondering if I could bring myself
to tear it apart
with my teeth.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 